"Hey."
"Hello," Ianto said, not taking his attention from working the foamer on the espresso machine.
"What's with you?"
Ianto looked at Jack. "Nothing. Why?"
"You've been in a mood all morning," Jack said, leaning against the door frame.
"Have I? Guess it was the Devils."
"The what? Where? Why didn't anybody get me? I didn't see anything on the rift -"
"Cardiff Devils. Ice hockey? Lost last night, no chance of championships. Bloody Sheffield, as usual."
Jack's jaw dropped and his eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. "You?"
"Yes…."
"Alright, who are you and what have you done with Ianto Jones?"
Ianto rolled his eyes. "I follow ice hockey, what's so shocking about that?"
"Well, you…." Jack looked Ianto up and down and gestured. "Doesn't really fit with the whole…."
"Ah, I see. Straight-laced, up-tight tea boys don't do sporting events?"
"Well, it is a little… rough and hyper-masculine."
"In case you've failed to notice, rough and hyper-masculine are two of my favorite things. After coffee. Or before."
"That an invitation?" Jack grinned, turning on the swagger like a tap.
"After coffee."